Fast Talking Business Men
by SmokeMyCancer
Summary: Mickey Milkovich hadn't just rubbed off on Carl. He'd turned Ian Gallagher into a force to be reckoned with. It was little scary. Part of my "The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Carl Gallagher" series.


Fast Talking Business Men

_Part of __**The Increasingly Poor Decisions of Carl Gallagher**__ series_

Staring numbingly at Carl, Lip Gallagher flicked his cigarette ash onto the toes of his shoes. Behind him, Mandy snorted, smiled wide, and threw her arms up in disbelief. She marched up the steps and into the townhouse she and Lip shared. Carl simply stood in the grass, frowning pitifully at his oldest brother.

"Jesus, Carl," Lip said with a straight face.

Carl rubbed the back of his neck. Sheepishly, he looked over at Lip's neighbor and her toy poodle. He cleared his throat and said, "You're good at crunching numbers. I was hoping you know a way for me to fix this?" The words came off unsure, as more of begging questions.

Lip sighed. "Carl," he trailed, "you borrowed from a loan shark." His statement hung thick in the air. Deadpan. He shook his head, pursed his lips and squinted his face while studying the sidewalk.

Silence fell between them. One in which Carl hoped his brother's wheels were turning. One in which Carl gained control of his panic with faulty reasoning. So what if he had just borrowed ten thousand dollars from a notorious shark. So what if his business endeavors hadn't worked out. So what if he hadn't earned back even half the money. Fuck that. Even a third. So what.

"I'm so screwed," Carl breathed, glaring daggers at the poodle.

Finally Lip stirred. He lifted his head and shoved to his feet, slapping his knees on the way up. "Mandy!" he called over his shoulder, ignoring Carl and waltzing into his house.

Carl frowned and followed. As he opened the door and stepped in halfway, he heard Mandy's aggravation.

"He's already been shot by Slentz once," Mandy was saying. "No way will he help out on this," she chuckled. "You can get that out of your head. Mick would sooner go back to Metropolitan Correctional," she snorted.

Carl stood, defeated, in the doorway as he listened in. Henry Slentz was going to hunt Carl down and gut him like a fish unless Carl paid up the ten grand. Ten grand he most certainly couldn't come up with in two days.

Hands in his pockets, Lip strolled down his hallway. His eyes landed fast on Carl. He licked his lips and stood before his little brother. Carl was a lot taller that Lip, but Lip's age alone made him seem larger. He exhaled loudly and looked Carl over. Glancing over his shoulder for signs of his wife, Lip whispered, "She's right." He looked back at Carl. "Mickey won't get his hands dirty with your shark. Not after what happened during his bailout," Lip said.

The bailout Lip spoke of brought on a look of reminisce to Carl's face. Mickey's bailout had been the sole reasoning behind Ian's quick decision in not re-enlisting for the Marines. Mickey getting out of prison brought Ian home after his four year absence in Korea. Turns out those two had never lost contact. Carl and the others hadn't quite known how to accept the news. But then, when Mickey Milkovich is laid out on the kitchen counter with a bullet in his ass, shouting curses to raise the roof, for a second time in one decade, shock is the general response. Especially when he's being operated on by an ex-marine who hadn't even announced his return home to anyone.

Carl chuckled at the memory of walking into his kitchen with an arm full of groceries. Fiona dropping everything, angry and questioning. And Ian. He'd just looked up from Mickey's bloody backside, tools in hand. "Surprise?" Ian had said, awkwardly.

Thinking of Ian, a light went off in Carl's skull. Meeting Lip's curious stare, a grin spread across Carl's face. Lip's features twisted into a gradual state of suspicion, followed fast by enlightenment. Because Lip was smart enough; he could probably see Carl's thought process. And Gallaghers always stuck together, no matter the circumstance.

And so that. That was how Carl wound up in the basement of Ian's house, staring at Henry Slentz tied to a computer chair and bruised up. From his perch on the bottom step, Carl watched his, according to Little Hank, Barbie brother, scare the living shit out of Chicago's deadliest money lender. For a man who was supposed to be terrifying, Henry looked downright peckish. He was holding his ground, though.

Mickey Milkovich hadn't just rubbed off on Carl. He'd turned Ian Gallagher into a force to be reckoned with. It was little scary. But then, being in war had fucked with Ian. He'd never be the same kind hearted soul Fiona missed dearly. That cruel streak that Ian once kept under wraps swung full force more times than not. Likely because of his perpetual headache brought on because of one too many concussions. Ian was rather ruthless.

Carl watched Ian sigh in frustration as he paced, stopped, hands on his hips, and looked over his shoulder at Henry.

"Listen," Ian said, grave, "I'm just not sure I can take your word for it, Slentz."

Henry scowled. "Fuck you, Gallagher," he hissed. His salt and pepper hair was drenched in sweat and sticking to his long forehead. One of his eyes was already swelling shut. His lips, already a shade of unnatural red from being chapped, appeared purple now. Busted up just like his left leg. The one Carl had taken out with his bat so Ian could cram the guy into their borrowed van. The auto shop Mickey worked at wouldn't miss the van just yet.

Rolling his eyes, Ian wiped the sweat from his brow. He whistled out, plucked the collar of his shirt and fanned himself. Looking at Carl, Ian asked, "Go flip the air on now."

"More than happy to," Carl huffed, then disappeared upstair to the unit.

When he returned Ian was seated across from Henry in another chair. Ian's chair was a discarded barstool. The entire basement was littered with junk. In Ian's hand was a ratty looking rag. With oil stains on it. He leaned forward, looming down at the loan shark solemnly. Ian fiddled with his wrist, winding the rag around his fist. Carl froze at the bottom of the stairs, fascinated at this side of his brother. Truthfully, he hadn't been aware this side of Ian even existed. It had merely been a hunch that Ian would be willing to scare Henry.

Fuck. Carl had pictured Ian shrugging and agreeing because he had a vendetta against Henry for nailing Mickey in the ass and almost screwing up the Milkovich's freedom. And he'd been right about that. What he hadn't expected was how Ian planned going about the act. Carl had thought, gunpoint. Simple as. Had thought, it probably won't work. Instead he got the current menacing scene before him.

Wetting his lips, Ian said, calm, eyes drilling into Slentz, "You probably don't think I could force this towel down your throat." Frowning thoughtfully, Ian tightened his grip on the cloth and looked down. He didn't meet Slentz's hard, wary face again. Instead he leaned back once more and stared as he twisted the rag. "But trust me," Ian said, "I can. All the way." Cocking a brow at the item, Ian let it hang loose. He held it with the tips of his fingers now. "Except for this. I'll hold onto the end piece," he said, sounding far away. His eyes popped up to meet Henry's once more. "When your stomach starts to digest the towel, I'll pull it out," Ian said, very informative. "I'll take your stomach lining with it." He shrugged, sniffed. "You'll die," he said. "It'll be extremely painful."

"You won't dare," Henry chuckled. But Carl saw fear in his swollen eyes.

"That's the thing," Ian cleared his throat, shaking a leg, "I will. No one will miss a guy like you. The cops probably won't even look."

Spitting blood to the side, Slentz turned his burning gaze at Carl. "And if I cut his debt?" he asked Ian while staring Carl down hatefully. Snapped the words out quick.

Ian rubbed his sweaty upper lip and leaned forward on his elbows. "Do I have your word?" he asked. "You're a piece of shit, why should I trust you?" Ian laughed bitterly. "After all, Henry, you pulled the rug on Mickey for no reason," he went on. Jutting his thumb in Carl's direction, Ian cocked a brow and said, "With my little brother here, you have ten grand's worth of a reason. And I know first hand how fucking greedy you are."

Slowly, Slentz turned his face back to Ian. Slowly, Ian stood up and towered over his prey, face more grave than Carl remembered ever having seen it. Slowly, Carl's eyes widened.


End file.
